


Corvids

by ToxicPineapple



Series: Saimota Week 2020 [5]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: :yikes:, Angst, Cemeteries, Established Relationship, Grave visiting, Hurt/Comfort, I wanna add tags like grief and mourning and shit, I'ma be real with you chief, Introspection, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past minor character death, Saimota Week, Saimota Week 2020, You should probably read my fic "A couple of ghosts" in order to understand this, but it's from shuichi's pov, so i'm like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24326131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicPineapple/pseuds/ToxicPineapple
Summary: After a moment, Shuichi bends down to place the bouquet that he brought along with him. White lilies was his choice, though now that he’s looking perhaps he should have sprung for chrysanthemum. It isn’t as though he could have known about Kaito’s tradition, but regardless, the lilies seem almost out of place. It’s too late now, though. They’re resting there on the ground, amidst all the other flowers. After a while of looking, they start to look peaceful rather than jarring. They’re resting there. Keeping Kaito’s parents company. Shuichi feels another twinge of sadness.---Kaito takes Shuichi to visit his parents.---Saimota week day five: Mourning/Sleep
Relationships: Momota Kaito/Saihara Shuichi
Series: Saimota Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1750948
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	Corvids

**Author's Note:**

> written for saimota week day five! the prompt i used was "mourning"

The gravestones in this section of the cemetery are all different shapes and sizes. Some of them don’t even protrude from the ground, they’re just flat and smooth, buried in the dirt. They could easily be cobblestones, if not for the names and years and quotes written on them. Shuichi eyes them steadily, taking in the old, yellowed kanjis that he can’t read, the years that go further and further back. This is actually a rather beautiful spot. The ground is yellow and orange and red with leaves that crinkle underneath Shuichi’s boots. He likes all the memoralia, the statues and the bouquets of flowers. At the other end of the cemetery, the gravestones are the very same solid grey as the sky overhead. It’s such a uniform thing. Not human at all. And if  _ anywhere  _ should be human, it should be the cemetery.

Shuichi sneaks a glance over at Kaito. They’re holding hands, gloved fingers interlocked, swinging between them. Shuichi can  _ feel  _ the warmth radiating off of Kaito, even through both of their gloves. He was rambling like crazy when they left his grandparents’ house, switching topics faster than Shuichi could hope to keep up with them, but the closer they got to here, the more it’s petered off, and now he’s just quiet. Catatonic, almost, his gaze fixed straight ahead of them, his feet moving almost mechanically. He’s going a bit fast, actually, but Shuichi doesn’t have the heart to call him out.

It’s October 29th. Ten years exactly after Kaito’s parents died. He doesn’t talk about them often, if  _ ever;  _ there have been rare occasions when he’s been reminded, or even just felt comfortable enough to do so, but that doesn’t happen very much. Usually it’s just an unspoken truth between the two of them. When Kaito was eight, a decade ago exactly, he and his parents got into a car crash. Kaito survived. His parents didn’t.

He visits their graves fairly often, actually, so Shuichi suspects. He doesn’t have actual, like, verbal confirmation or anything, but he knows that Kaito is out of the house at a certain time every other Sunday, and that he’s familiar with the local florist, and that he walks this route like he’s done it millions of times. Shuichi doesn’t have to be a detective to be able to connect the dots.

Shuichi’s never been, though. He’s never even been to this cemetery before. A crow perches above them on a telephone wire, cawing loudly at something that Shuichi can’t see. Corvids fit the graveyard aesthetic a lot better than the bridge they’re about to cross with a creak trickling underneath. It’s like this is a part or something, somewhere to go on a date. If not for all the bodies underfoot, this might even the kind of place where he and Kaito would go sometime. Get a couple hot ciders at a coffeeshop and walk around until their legs are sore. Not today, though.

It’s a bit scary, Kaito’s silence. He and Shuichi have been doused in it before, the quiet, it’s just… even when Kaito is silent, when his jaw is clenched and his brows are knitted together, he still feels so solid. Reachable. Like if Shuichi spoke to him in a soft voice, he’d resurface. Come back down to planet earth and look at him with those beautiful lilac eyes, lighting up in a smile. Right now Kaito’s shoulders are slumped, and aside from a slight twitch in his jaw, his posture entirely relaxed. There’s just a faraway look in his eyes. It’s almost as though Kaito isn’t even here at all.

But really, how else is Kaito supposed to be feeling right now? Shuichi’s parents are both alive and healthy. Good, eh, debatable, but they’re on this earth. If Shuichi wanted to (and he doesn’t) he could dial his father’s phone number and talk to him right then and there. Kaito doesn’t have that. He hasn’t had it in ten years. Maybe a little bit of absence from reality is what he needs right now, to get through today.

Automatically, Shuichi’s gaze flickers up to Kaito’s forehead. Kaito has his hair down today, tucked underneath a grey beanie, and thus his bangs are flattened over the spot, but Shuichi’s gaze affixes to the place on Kaito’s temple where he knows a thin, white scar rests. From the car accident. Sometimes, after panic attacks, Shuichi will see him running his fingers over it, as though it will ground him somehow. The sight always breaks his heart.

Abruptly, and all at once, Kaito stops walking, and Shuichi stumbles. He hears a soft grunt from his boyfriend, a murmur of,  _ sorry,  _ but Shuichi waves him off, shooting a quick, nervous smile. There’s only one real reason why Kaito would have stopped.

Shuichi’s gaze trails down.

There’s only one gravestone, and it’s… simplistic. Slate grey, shiny, speckled. Reaches about mid-calf level. Engraved in the stone are the names  _ Akari and Eiji Momota,  _ and then their birth dates. Only one death date. No epitaph, but countless bouquets of white chrysanthemums littering the base, as though someone comes by frequently to leave them.

...as though someone comes by frequently to leave them.

It’s difficult to imagine, that someone would take time out of their life to come to a place every two weeks for ten years. Or maybe not for ten years, but clearly for a very long time. Many of the flowers resting against the stone are old and brown, in the process of decomposing. Having said that, people make time to do much less important things. Shuichi makes time every week to read at least an hour of one of his favourite books. Kaito can certainly find the time to go visit his dead parents.

The thought of Kaito coming here, alone, every two weeks, year-round, makes Shuichi feel slightly nauseous. But he doesn’t say anything. If anything is going to be said, it’ll be said by Kaito. And it doesn’t seem as though Kaito is planning on saying anything at all.

After a moment, Shuichi bends down to place the bouquet that he brought along with him. White lilies was his choice, though now that he’s looking perhaps he  _ should  _ have sprung for chrysanthemum. It isn’t as though he could have known about Kaito’s tradition, but regardless, the lilies seem almost out of place. It’s too late now, though. They’re resting there on the ground, amidst all the other flowers. After a while of looking, they start to look peaceful rather than jarring. They’re resting there. Keeping Kaito’s parents company. Shuichi feels another twinge of sadness.

What he really, really wants to do, is turn to his boyfriend and pull him in close. Tuck him into his arms and hold him there forever, sweep away everything that could hurt him, keep him  _ safe.  _ But Shuichi couldn’t do that. Even if he was strong enough, Kaito wouldn’t let him. Kaito is too foolish for that at times. And too brave.

He doesn’t look over, though. He’d like to (like to see the look on Kaito’s face, see if there’s anything that he needs) but this feels like a private moment. And sure, Kaito  _ invited  _ him to come; it isn’t as though Shuichi just came over and barged in on the ten-year anniversary of a death, but still. Shuichi doesn’t feel like he’s intruding per se, but he still doesn’t think he’d be doing Kaito any favours by staring at him. None at all. So he waits instead, staring down at Eiji and Akari’s names, letting them blur together and mix in his head.

What kind of people were they? Shuichi feels wrong wondering about it, but aside from random tidbits here and there, Kaito never shares anything about his memories of them, so Shuichi doesn’t know. He’d  _ like  _ to know, but it’s so difficult to get Kaito to talk about himself already, with his parents it feels like prodding at an open wound, and Shuichi desperately does not want to put him into that position. It’s just, he… he wants to know. He wants to know what their laughs sounded like, if they sounded like Kaito’s or uniquely their own. Their smiles, their mannerisms. He wants to know how they interacted with each other and with Kaito and with the world.

How much of himself did Kaito get from Eiji and Akari Momota? How much of himself did he form after that, in an attempt to protect his heart from the world? Shuichi wants to know in the way that he wants to know everything about Kaito, every detail, good and bad. Soak it all in and take it into his heart, where he can keep that information close to him and honour it in the way he treats his boyfriend. He wants Kaito to know how important he is, how  _ wonderful  _ he is. It’s just so difficult to reach him. Especially in times like this.

The silence is almost stifling. In the distance Shuichi can hear leaves being blown in the wind, crinkling as they float around. That crow is still going off. What few leaves are still on the trees rustle as well. Cars drive by somewhere behind him. The creak trickles softly. But the world is quiet, really. The entire universe is waiting for Kaito to say something right now.

And he doesn’t. Say something, that is.

No, when the silence is broken, it’s by a faint sob. When Shuichi turns to look, Kaito’s got a hand over his mouth, his lilac eyes are bright with tears, and his shoulders are shaking. How long he’s been standing like that, trying to get a handle on himself, Shuichi can’t say. He’s been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he didn’t even realise. Guilt twists in the pit of his stomach, dark and ugly, but then Kaito looks at him, and he mumbles something into his hand, and collapses into Shuichi’s arms.

Which is no small thing, as Kaito is a good five inches taller than Shuichi, but he manages. Of course he does. He catches Kaito around the waist, squeezing him tight, and hums as Kaito’s arms wrap around his shoulders. He’s shaking so bad, Shuichi feels momentarily panicked, but he just takes a breath and pulls him in tighter. Kaito needs him to be together right now. There’s no reason for him to be falling apart in the first place.

Shuichi can’t imagine that this ever gets any easier. Mourning. Missing people. When people leave Shuichi’s life by  _ circumstance,  _ he has breakdowns. If someone was gone forever in a place he couldn’t reach them, he… he doesn’t know what he’d do. How he’d cope. And Kaito is so unimaginably strong for that, because he deals with it every single day.

(What else could he do other than deal?)   
  


The sobs that come from Kaito are faint. Muffled by the material of Shuichi’s scarf. He shakes really hard though, his hands fisting in the back of Shuichi’s jacket, and it’s all Shuichi can do to keep standing, keep holding him, keep rubbing his back and murmuring reassurances. He doesn’t really even know what he’s saying. Whatever comes to mind. Whatever should help. Whether it actually  _ helps  _ or not… that’s something Shuichi can’t say. But he does it anyway. He doesn’t know what else to do.

He stops when he hears Kaito trying to speak, wanting to give him the space to do so. It’s a difficult process, if only because Kaito’s breath is hitching so much that for a moment he can’t form a coherent sentence, but Shuichi waits. He and the universe have all the time in the world to wait for what he wants to say.

After a while, what comes out of Kaito’s mouth is, “Thank you,” and Shuichi feels a lump form in his throat, his chest giving a painful squeeze. Of course. Shuichi pulls him in closer and presses his face into Kaito’s shoulder.

“Any time, of course,” he breathes, feels Kaito shudder against him. “Thank you for bringing me.” He’s not even sure that that’s what he’s being thanked for, or if Kaito is thanking him for the crying, or if it’s just like, a general thanks, to Shuichi and the universe, but it doesn’t really matter. Kaito lets out a soft laugh into his scarf, and Shuichi finds himself smiling a bit, humming a song that he used to listen to every night before he fell asleep.

They stay there for a very long time, until the pale grey in the sky turns into the colour of slate, and rain starts to pour down on them. Then they stay there even longer, curled up together against the gravestone, talking about everything and nothing all at once.

(Shuichi has never seen Kaito smile so brightly. Maybe mourning  _ does  _ get easier. Over time.)

**Author's Note:**

> this is kinda shoddy my b


End file.
